Saints, Sandwiches, SelfLoathing, And Surprises
by Roaddog 469
Summary: Continuation of my Twins/OFC saga. See inside for complete Author's Note...
1. Chapter 1

*****AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, yall! Here we go. The newest continuation of my Twins/OFC saga. This one picks up where the last one (Saints Go Marching On) leaves off. Some decent smut in this one, hope that you enjoy. My OFC is dealing with some issues this go-round, so I'm sure she'll piss you off, but cut her some slack (please read the Addendum at the end of Chapter 5).

I'm figuring one more fic before I'm finished with this. I know where I'm going, but I don't know exactly how long it'll take me to get there, but fear not (not that you were), I'll finish it.

Thank you to everyone who is still following and has put me on their Author Alerts or Favorites. Thanks to all the reviewers! And Extra Special Crunchy Munchy Thank You's to Valerie E. Mackin, Nmbr1Fanilow, Penelope Sweet, BranowynIvy, ShayGurl, SaraLostInes, and Italian Rose, y'all have kept me going even when I wanted to quit.

Anyway on to the story…Hope you enjoy! Please review, share the love!

*****End of Author's Note*****

The phone was obviously not going to stop ringing.

It couldn't be Connor or Murphy, and I didn't want to talk to anyone else, so I had been ignoring it…for the last five minutes straight.

I knew it had been five minutes because when it rang the first time I had looked at the clock beside my bed and if said 6:08 am and I thought, 'What asshole is calling me at 6:08 in the morning?' And now my clock said 6:13 am and the fucking phone was still ringing.

Cheerily.

The bastard.

6:14 now. Still ringing.

"Ugh," I groaned to myself as I kicked my legs free of the sheets that had gotten wrapped around them during my sleepless night in my way too empty bed.

My feet on the floor, I sat a while, hoping it would stop and I could lay back down, but it didn't.

"Figures," I mumbled as I rose and crossed the room. Seriously, I thought to myself as I scratched my ribs, nevermind waking me up, but have some consideration for my neighbors, letting the phone ring for this long. What kind of an asshole lets a phone ring for six minutes.

I snatched the receiver up and growled into it.

"Ms. O'Reilly?"

I recognized the voice right away and thought 'Oh, that kind of asshole.' "Agent Smecker," I replied, coldly. Smecker and the detectives had never been given my real name, but when Connor and Murphy had heard about the lame attempt at an alias I gave to the cop in their apartment the morning after St. Patricks day (after they pissed themselves, laughing, of course) they decided it was as good a name as any to use for me. Always keeping me uninvolved, my boys, I thought as a pang shot through my belly and I promptly ignored it. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

A pause as he, no doubt, consulted a watch which had probably cost more than a month's rent on my apartment. "Six-fifteen am," he said, his voice clipped.

I was opening my mouth for a scathing reply when the meep-meep-meep sound of my alarm sounded from my bedroom. I groaned, "Hold on," I said, dropping the phone, not waiting for a response.

I trudged back to my room, thumped my alarm clock into submission and wandered back. I lifted the phone to my ear and said, "Look, Agent Smecker, I've got an hour to get to work. I'm sure you're not calling cause you're concerned for my well-being so can we get to the point?"

A pause on the other end of the line. "When do you get off?"

"As often as I can," I snarked. No response. "At five. Why?"

"I need to see you."

I arched an eyebrow at the phone, doubtfully. "That's very sweet," I replied, my voice flat. "This would normally be the point in the conversation where I say 'You aren't my type', but the impression you've always given is that *I'm* not *yours*."

"Look," he began, a hint of a snarl in his voice, "I don't like you and I know you don't like me, but this meeting was one of the last requests made of me by our mutual friends –"

"Last request?" I gasped. "Are they-" I couldn't even finish.

"They were fine when I last saw them. I have not yet received confirmation of their arrival at their final destination." My fingers loosened on the receiver as he continued, "They asked a favor of me and I need to see you to do it. Now…could I buy you dinner?"

I could hear his lips curling up in distaste, and a wicked grin crossed my own and I let it leak into my voice as I replied, "Surely."

A pause. "I'll be outside your job at 5 pm," and the phone disconnected.

I made a face at the receiver in my hand before I returned it to the cradle, then turned to hit the shower. I was brushing my teeth when I realized that Smecker shouldn't have known my phone number, let alone where I worked. And that was more than a little disconcerting.

Work was a nightmare. It was dead and the only thing anybody wanted to talk about were "The Saints." I had hidden in the apartment all of the previous day, so this was the first time I had heard the name. I had to admit, I kinda dug the label, but that didn't mean I wanted to discuss it with everyone. But everyone continued to ask me. "Did you see it?" "Did you see them?" "Do you think it's right?" "Who do they think they are?"

I was ready to rip out my hair by lunch. I had to get out. So I walked down to a deli on the corner, ordered a sandwich and sat at the counter to eat it.

Food is comfort for me. And sex. Food and sex. Though not at the same time, obviously, because that would be messy…but the idea has merit, but I digress. The point is I was really looking forward to diving into my pastrami. As it neared my mouth, some guy rushed the counter and said, "Hey, turn that up."

I glanced at the TV as the counterman cranked the volume and was accosted by the same images of people running down the steps of the courthouse that had been playing all day. The talking heads droning on about vigilantism, for or against. The same clip of that redhead crying into the camera. The 'man in the street' segment.

I looked depressedly down at my sandwich and returned it to my plate, flagging the counterguy asking him to wrap it up for me.

A younger guy that sometimes helped out with the lunch rush came over to retrieve my plate. He looked up at me, arched one eyebrow and grinned. "You'll still be here when I bring it back?"

I narrowed my eyes at him and was going to say something smart, then the memory clicked and I felt my face flush red. I cleared my throat, smiling, "Yeah," I replied. "I'll be right here."

He walked away and I glanced down the short hallway to the bathrooms and grinned, dropping my face and shaking my head. Can't believe I forgot that *this* was the place.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been sometime in…April? Maybe May, but Connor had called me at work to see if I wanted to grab lunch. Just me and him, which was a sweet switch all by itself. Since Rocco had died the boys had seemed to flounder a bit and clung closer to each other. I never saw one without the other anymore…which was also fun, but I digress, yet again.

I accepted and met him at the deli, he had already ordered for us both and was walking to a booth when I arrived. I slid in next to the wall and he slid in beside me. In addition to my sandwich he had bought me a dill pickle (which I *love* to eat with my sandwiches and I was munching on it as I rambled about work, watching him as he became more and more still. His body tightening beside mine. I looked around for potential threats that could have been causing him to go so taut, so suddenly. My rambling slowed to a stop as I eyed him, "Connor?"

"Aye," he replied, his voice low.

"What's going on?" I asked my voice pitched to match his, my eyes casting around, looking for danger.

"Do ye honestly not know?" he asked, not meeting my gaze.

"No," I said, more than a little nervous now.

He took my hand in his and slid it under the table, up his thigh to what must have been a painful erection. I nearly choked as his eyes, clouded with lust, met mine. "I'm not even rubbing my boobs on you, Connor," I whispered, trying to hold in my laughter.

"Your mouth and that fuckin' pickle," his voice husky.

I did laugh a little, as his hand slid up my leg, and the laughter died in my throat as I felt my thighs warm under his touch. "You bought it. You can't blame me for it."

"Who's blaming ye? I just want to fuck ye," he said, leaning into my neck, inhaling deeply, as his tongue snaked across my pulse, and I jumped a little.

I groaned as I looked down at my watch. "Not enough time," I mewled as his finger trailed up and down my throat.

"Trust me," he breathed in my ear, "it's enough time," he finished as his teeth closed around my earlobe.

My eyes rolled back and my back arched. I felt my nipples harden to nubs against the sheer fabric of my bra and I was damp. I pressed my lips hard together to hold in the moans of pleasure building in my throat.

"Unless, ye just don't want to fuck me?" he asked, his lips now brushing my neck as he spoke.

"Pfft," I said (always the wordsmith, me), "you walk into the room and I wanna fuck you, Connor, but I've got half an hour to get back to work, that's not even enough time to get to the hotel and back."

His teeth sank into my shoulder, and my nails sunk into the poly-vinyl seat I was sitting on, "Who said anything about the hotel?"

Before I could even look at him quizzically he had slid my nametag off the table and was standing. "Wrap this up to go, yea, friend?" he shouted at the counterman before he started for the back of the place.

I sat there for another second in a state of indecision. I couldn't really go back to work without my nametag. Aside from the fact that it had my work keys on it, it was also what I used to clock in and out. I needed that tag. Of course, looking around the deli there were an awful lot of witnesses. I made eye contact with the counterguy and thought 'do I want this guy to know that I'm in the bathroom banging my boyfriend?' then something clicked, in that simple eye contact and question, lust roared through my body and the being that was my sexuality stood up and howled. My skin tingled where Connor's mouth had touched and my nethers pulsed hard, but not unpleasantly. Hm, I thought to myself, sliding out of the booth, that's a little surprising.

"Wrap your up too, miss?" he asked as he approached.

I didn't even trust my voice so I just nodded as I stumbled to my feet and wandered wobbly-legged down the short corridor.

I had just passed the first door when it opened and Connor snaked one arm out, wrapping his hand around my bicep and pulling. I fell against his chest, off balance and heard the door close and lock behind me as he pushed me backwards against it. Hard.

My shoulders suddenly supported my weight as Connor slid his hands down my body, grabbed behind my knees and lifted, settling my legs around his hips as he ground into me.

His lips met mine, just as violently as if he intended to swallow me. I lifted my hands up to cup his face, but he grabbed my wrists and thumped them against the door beside my hips, holding them there. I moaned into his mouth as he started to thrust into me, fast and hard. But not as fast or hard as I wanted, especially since we were both still fully clothed. I used my thighs to press harder against him, making him work harder to get any force behind his hips.

He growled into me and slid his mouth away from mine, his hands moving from my wrists up my sides to haul down the neck of my blouse and the cups of my bra. My breasts were now exposed and bouncing in the wake of the assault by his hips, and he fell on them with his mouth. Suckling and snarling. He got one nipple between his teeth and bit down. I yelped, then bit down on my lip, trying to remain quiet. Not that the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of my head and shoulders against the door wasn't giving us away already, but no need to cause anymore of a scene.

I moved my hands up my legs to his jeans. I needed him naked, inside me, needed the feel of his skin sliding against my own

He took the hint quickly and unhooked my legs from around his waist, his hands undoing my own pants as quickly as I undid his. I got one foot loose and I was in the air again, this time my ass plunked down on the edge of the counter as he came to me, stroking is already leaking cock in one hand as he spread my thighs with his body.

I was pulling at his arms, needing him closer. He pulled my face to his and kissed me softly, tasting my lips as he slid slowly into me. I inhaled sharply and exhaled a groan of pleasure as my body laid back, my head against the mirror, my back over the sink and Connor's hands on my body.

He established a smooth rhythm, not rushed, but God, oh God, so pleasant. I was bucking my hips to meet his own, my eyes closing in ecstasy, half-forming his name with every breathy exhale.

My hands clenched around his forearms, loving the feel of his muscles as they bunched and unbunched, pulling my hips into his with every thrust. My eyes opened, languidly, unfocused on the ceiling and I slowly turned my gaze on Connor. I always liked to watch him fuck me, his eyes roving over my body, taking me all in, but today he was fixed on one point. For a second I thought it was his own reflection in the mirror behind me, but when I turned my head to confirm, his eyes followed me.

I felt ridiculously exposed under his intense scrutiny (made even more ridiculous considering how many positions the man had seen me naked in and the fact that he now had me laid out over a sink in a public bathroom), and I tensed, but not in an impending climax way and Connor knew the difference.

His hands lighted on my thighs as he stilled inside of me. "What's wrong, lass?" he asked, his voice strained.

I shook my head, "You're staring."

"Aye," he agreed, no trace of shame.

"At what?" I asked, suddenly worried that I may have a booger or something.

"Do ye now know how glorious that fuckin mouth of yers looks when you're enjoying yerself?"

I laughed a little in my throat until I noticed the look on his face. Fuckin' hell, he was serious. I bit my bottom lip and shook my head.

He smiled, pulled me to his chest and pulled out of me, "Close yer eyes." I arched an eyebrow at him, but did it. His hands were light on my body as he set my feet on the floor and spun my back to his chest. His fingers played over the pebbly nubs of my nipples and I arched my ass into him. One hand slid down lightly stroking my thigh then moving inwards, rubbing a knuckle against my clit, I moaned as I rocked back and forth on the digit, my body still achingly aroused, needing release. I felt him kneel behind me as he pulled up my shirt. Nipping lightly at the skin of my back, as the pressure against my clit steadily increased. I was moaning quietly, still trying to keep my voice down, until his lips made contact with my hot-spot and I shrieked once.

"Aye, lass" he said, coming to his feet, both his hands now on my hips. "Keep 'em closed," I nodded as I squirmed against him.

"Connor," his name almost a prayer from my lips. He lifted my hips slightly as he pressed my body forward with his own, bending me over the sink, my face almost against the mirror, my hands clutching the faucet. His hand found my shoulder holding me in place as I felt him line up again, hesitate, then slam home. I cried out again, my mouth staying open, panting and moaning as he rocked into me over and over again.

His fingers sank into the flesh of my hips almost painfully as his hand held my shoulder steady. Connor knew I had my rough tendencies and he was pushing all the buttons today. "Almost, lass, almost," he said as he leaned a little further back, changing the angle of his hips and I shrieked again. He wrapped a fist in the hair at the base of my skull and wrenched back, pulling my face up, thrusting out my breasts, and arching my back further still. "Now, lass, look."

I did, blissfully, and was confronted with a reflection I didn't recognize. My eyes, wide, half-dilated, were a shade darker than usual, bright with lust, shiny with desire, smoky and wanton. Color flushed across my cheeks, giving my face an almost innocent air, my hair, come loose from my ponytail framed my chin, delicately. My fingers white-knuckled on the faucet, and my breasts, heavy and spilling out of my shirt seemed almost perky and my mouth…Damn. My lips were swollen and bright, my mouth wide and mobile, open and panting was…hell, sexy.

Taken as a whole, I looked…pretty hot. I remembered reading somewhere that who you are in bed is who you are in your soul and fuckin' hell…this was me. My eyes flashed up to Connor's and he smiled as he increased his rate, still openly staring at my face and something inside of me broke loose. I was still completely aware that there were people eating lunch not ten feet from me, but suddenly…I didn't care.

My inner sexual being galvanized by the vision of lust incarnate written all over my face in the mirror, overthrew my reason and reservation and planted itself firmly in the driver's seat and floored the pedal.

I couldn't get any leverage with my legs since my toes didn't' reach the floor, so I used my arms to push myself back against him as hard as I could, meeting his thrusts with my own. Any thought of volume control was gone as I cried out over and over what started as his name, then devolved into a series of encouraging suggestions. "Oh Christ, Connor, harder, yeah, like that. Oh, fuck, yea. So good, Connor. Aw, don't stop, don't," my voice died off in a scream as an orgasm came dangerously close to the surface, but I bit my lip, holding it back. It felt too good, too fucking good. I didn't want it to end.

"Come on, lass, come for me," he panted, his speed increasing, his movements jerky but no less forceful, he was just as close as I was.

I couldn't even form words, only shook my head.

"Goin ta make me play dirty, lass," he said, as I watched him slide his thumb into his mouth, suckling it. "Last chance," he said, his fingers ghosting over my hot-spot, pushing me precariously close to the edge of release. And I shook my head again. "All right," he said, his hand sliding over my ass, he pulled back until only the tip of his cock was inside me, then circled my sphincter with his thumb.

"Connor," I groaned, "that's cheating."

He resumed a slow pace in and out of me as his thumb slowly worked the tight ring of muscles around my anus. His free hand slid between my hips and the counter, lifting me slightly and fingering my clit. I could feel my eyes start to roll back as my body started to twitch.

"Let go for me, lass," he hissed as he slammed his cock into me, knuckled hard against my clit, and slid his thumb into my ass, pressing down against the thin layer of muscle separating his thumb from his cock.

I couldn't have held on any longer if I had tried, so I didn't bother. I came. Screaming. Until I lost my breath, then quivered until I thought I would explode, then any and all muscle control left my body and I collapsed hard against the counter. Connor collapsed on top of me, and he was all that held me upright.

My mind checked out for a while and when I returned Connor had replaced my panties and slid me further over on the counter, freeing up the sink so he could wash his hands.

I grinned, ridiculously and he laughed. "Yer back, then, lass?"

"Aye," I replied, sliding back.

"Can ye stand?"

"I guess we'll find out," I said as my feet hit the floor. My legs were weak and my knees wobbly, but I remained upright. I was returning my breasts to their proper receptacles and looking around for my shoe when Connor flicked the water off and sprayed droplets at me off of his fingers. "Hey," I whined, as I slipped into my pants and shoe. I tried to tie my hair back again, but it didn't look promising.

Connor, of course, didn't look any different than he had when we walked into the bathroom. The all-natural fuck. I rolled my eyes and consulted my watch. True to his word, I still had fifteen minutes to get back to work. My clothes settled back into relative modesty, I turned from the mirror and prepared to march back out into the restaurant. Connor stood in front of the door. He slid his hands around my hips to squeeze my ass as he lowered his mouth to mine.

"Come now, lass," he said, kissing my forehead and lacing his fingers with mine, "walk of shame."

I huffed out a breath, squeezed his hand, and followed him out the door.

To my relief (my sexual being, now sated, had curled up and fallen asleep, leaving me to deal with the fallout (the bitch)) the deli was not all that full. There was a pair of ladies in their late 50's closest to the hall who both studiously avoided glancing at us as we came out, a table full of rowdy 20 something boys who looked me up and down then gave Connor a thumbs up, a girl about my age engrossed in a book and wearing a pair of headphones and the two counterguys. The younger guy stared at us open-mouthed, our to-go bags in his hands, the owner, an older man, just wiped at his counter, a small grin on his face. As we approached he raised his eyes enough to wink at us, then looked back at the counter.

Connor snagged the bags from the counterguy's limp fingers, released my hand, laid his fingers at the small of my back and led me out the door.

Once outside, he kissed me goodbye, patted my ass as I turned to go, and left. I walked back to work, a spring in my step and a burning desire to install a mirror somewhere around my bed.


	3. Chapter 3

The afternoon at work wasn't much better than the morning and with every passing minute, I got closer to clock-out time but also closer to time to meet with Smecker. I rolled my eyes thinking about it as I finished up the last of my work. I grabbed my sandwich out of the breakroom fridge, snagged my purse, and stuffed it inside. Midnight snack, maybe. Just then somebody turned up the TV to hear again about Poppa Joe's killing at the hands of The Saints. I walked out without saying goodbye to anyone and headed for the front door where Smecker said he'd meet me.

Summer seemed to have settled over Boston when I was at work and the heat hit me like a physical blow when I opened the door. Sweat immediately broke out on my upper lip and just above my chin. I tried to lean against the building, but the stone was too hot and I felt the sweat start to trickle down my shoulder and that took me back…

It had been in the winter. January, I think. The boys were still refusing to stay at my place, but I had said theirs was too cold unless they wanted me showing up in my sweats, wrapped in a blanket, and wearing fuzzy socks and my big, fluffy slippers shaped like St. Bernards. Murphy had seemed intrigued by the slippers, but nonetheless had gone out wheeling and dealing and had found a small space heater for five bucks.

It seemed like a great idea for about the first 30 minutes. That was about the time it started to get a little too warm in the flat and also about the time that we realized that fucking thing wouldn't turn off. Even after it was unplugged, which I thought was a sign of possession by some kind of evil heater spirit. The boys just thought it was a reason to throw the bitch out the window. On the floor of the alley it faded to its death, but there still wasn't enough air circulating through the flat to drop the temperature.

Ice was forming on windows outside, and me and the boys were sitting in our underwear, sweating our asses off. It was eventually too much for Connor and he headed out to McGuinty's, leaving Murphy and I alone.

We played a few hands of poker and smoked a few hundred cigarettes before we decided that is was just too damn hot and maybe if we fell asleep, in the morning it would be cooler.

Before the heater debacle, the twins had pushed their mattresses together for warmth and it was too hot to try to move them, so Murphy laid on his and I collapsed onto Connor's. On my stomach, I lazily reached up a hand to unhook my bra and dragged it off of my sticky skin.

I was facing the wall, but I could hear Murphy shift beside me. His fingers brushed my hair off of my neck, damp and gross, then traced down my spine. I was actually drawing breath to tell him it was too hot, when he splayed his hand across my back, still…and blissfully cool. His fingers reached from one shoulderblade to the other.

Hot spot aside, I've always had a bit of a thing about my back. Even something as simple as a shirt rucking up a bit above the waist of my pants and cool air kissing my bare skin gets me more than a little stimulated…and there had always been something about Murphy's touch. Even before we started 'our arrangement' when his fingers would brush my own when we'd reach for the ashtray at the same time. Or his hand steadying my own when I'd hold out a lighter for him. And combining the two…his hand and the naked skin on my back caused the breath that I had drawn to be expelled in a throaty moan.

His hand slip up to one shoulder, squeezing, then back center. Then the other shoulder, squeezing, then returned. I arched against his hand, gasping. His hand roamed down one side of my spine, then back up the other side, then center. I sighed, throatily, bowing my back, so my shoulders came off the mattress a bit. His hand slid down my back again, over one ass cheek, then back up. Back down, over the other cheek, catching the waistband of my panties on his fingertips, his fingers tracing my bare ass, then letting my panties slide back up, clutching my cotton-clad globe then sliding his hand back up my side to the center spot of my back. I was mewling, by this point. "Don't be starting anything, you don't plan to finish, Murph," I groaned, pressing my back against his palm.

Murphy's hand left my back, but before I could make a protesting noise, his fingers dug into my hip, pulled me onto my side, then hard against him. His cock pressing against my ass, and I moaned again.

His fingers gathered in my hair, pushing me forward, bending me at the waist away from him. My legs sandwiched with his own, his on the bottom, mine, his, then mine on top. His hand tracked down my spine, making me shiver in the heat. His fingers caught my panties again, pulling them down hard, over my hips, tangled for a moment at the tops of my thighs, then his toe hooked them and pulled them clear.

Bent forward, my hands in front of me, I couldn't reach him, "Aw, Murphy," I sighed.

I felt him shift his weight behind me, his hand sneaking around my hip, pulling me up further. I was turning my head to see where this was going when Murphy sank his teeth into one of my ass cheeks.

I yelped, half-pain and half-surprise, my body straightening. He released a half-second later, then pressed his body full length against my back. "Always wanted to do that," he panted against my neck.

I laughed a little before he put pressure on my neck again, pressing me forward. I was just thinking, 'what the hell?' when he grabbed the knee of my top leg, pulling it back over the top of his thigh, splaying me blissfully open enough for his fingers to find my clit and I shrieked, my hips bucking back against his. "Aye, girl," he whispered, as he nudged my leg even further open with his thigh. I felt him slide down my body ever so slightly, then his fingers were gone from my clit and he slid deliciously into my slick entrance.

I sucked in a deep breath and bowed back against the hand at my neck. He started a slow rhythm that I matched with very little effort as I rocked back against him. He pulled back on my hips, seating my ass in position against him, then released the pressure on my shoulder, letting me spoon back against him as much as I could. My ass in position for him to keep moving in and out of me left an oval of open space between his belly and the small of my back, but the different angle left my shoulders square with his instead of below them. Pressed back against him, one hand worked my nipple as his other held tight to my hip, maintaining pressure against him.

"Oh, fuck, Murph," I panted. It was slow. It was sensual. It. Was. Fucking. Incredible. His angle tickled my G-spot without rubbing it hard enough to make me come. His pace was deliberate. His fingers inched forward to my clit, playing it gently as I moaned. His mouth nipped at my shoulder before moving on to lick and kiss at my neck and ear. My arm reached back over my shoulder to press at the back of his head. His hand left my nipple to turn my chin over my shoulder where his lips met mine. His tongue and lips moved in a rhythm that complimented rather than copied the timing of his hips, and I felt a pressure begin to build.

His mouth swallowed my cries as I rocked back against him, the minute extra pressure intensifying the sensations. After a few seconds, Murphy broke away, leaving me to moan outloud. He sped up and I responded, bucking back against him. My arm extended down to cup his ass, encouraging him, without words to increase the speed and strength of his thrusts. He complied and he started making noises of his own. Forceful "Mmm"s as he thrust into me and appreciative "Ah"s as my nails raked his skin where I could find it, and he was just getting me hotter.

My shoulders slipped against his chest, both of us slick with sweat and the wiry hair from his chest scratched at my back, pleasantly, and I could feel my orgasm surging to the surface. I rocked my hips back against him as hard as I could and held still, twining my ankle around his calf. The hand on my hip and he thrust into me hard enough to (almost) hurt over and over again, his speed increasing as we both neared climax.

"Oh, God, Murphy. Like that, like that."

"Like this?" he asked, his voice strained, his breath whispering across the damp skin of my shoulder as he spoke.

"Uh-huh. Oh, God, yeah."

"Aye, girl, aye. Are ye coming?"

"Almost…mmm, almost, oh fuck, nearly there," I panted, my whole body tensing.

"Scream for me, girl," he breathed against my neck, his hair brushing the shell of my ear. He pumped harder, holding my shoulder firm with one hand, my hip with the other. "Let me hear ye get there, give me a scream," he panted against my neck.

He licked my pulse point just then and it was enough to push me well over the edge. A scream any horror movie bimbo or porn-starlet would have been envious of ripped from me as my body twitched under his assault. An instant later, I felt him shudder inside of me, forcefully enough to make me come again, howling his name.

His forehead thumped against my shoulder and he kissed my shoulderblade almost on reflex as he breathed heavy against my damp skin. I shifted just enough to let him slide out of me, the movement eliciting a shiver from him as an aftershock ran through his body. Both of us wet and slippery, with the sweat from our exertion and the still oppressive heat in the fucking flat, I spooned back against him, relishing the occasional shiver that rocked him.

"I'm glad the heater was a piece of shit," he said, his voice weak as he faded to sleep.

I laughed, "Why? Cause Connor left?"

"Nah," he said, barely audible, "cause sometimes hot and sweaty is better."

I smiled as he slung an arm over my hips, his fingertips tickling around my belly button and agreed, kissing his sweat-slicked hair, "True that."


	4. Chapter 4

A car horn honking brought me out of my reverie. Looking up I saw Smecker standing beside an open car door. I wiped off the goofy grin I could feel on my face and started for the car. I slid into the front seat and Smecker closed the door after me before he sat down in the back.

I glanced over at the driver's nervous smile and sweet eyes. "Draw the short straw, did ya, Duffy?"

He grinned at me quickly, then moved out into traffic. "Where are we headed?" he asked, flicking a glance at Smecker in the rearview.

"You got a preference?" Smecker asked his eyes meeting mine, then looking away.

I shrugged. "Had deli for lunch."

"There's an Italian place a block from my hotel," he said.

"I know it," Duffy replied, driving with a purpose now.

Silence hung in the car for a few minutes. "Are you gonna expect small talk?" Smecker asked from the back seat.

"Not much for the foreplay," I lied, never moving my eyes from the windshield.

"Good," he answered.

Duffy shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he coasted along the busy streets. Ten long silence-filled minutes later, Duffy pulled to the curb and Smecker got out. I was grabbing my purse when he opened my door. I climbed out and Duffy leaned over the seat. "You need me to wait?"

"I can walk," Smecker replied and closed the door. Duffy met my eyes through the window and I opened the door again.

"And I can find my own way home, Detective. Thanks for the ride." I closed the door and turned to follow Smecker as Duffy pulled away from the curb.

He was holding the door as I approached and I paused. "Look. I know you don't like me so this whole 'door-holding' thing is just coming off as sarcasm."

He smirked. "I do it for everybody."

I arched an eyebrow. "Oh. Ok, then," I replied as I walked past him.

We seated ourselves and were immediately accosted by a waiter. I ordered tea and some kind of pasta that ended in an 'i' and Smecker ordered something similar.

Once the waiter had brought our drinks and retreated, Smecker leaned forward. "So they should be at their final destination tomorrow."

I let out a deep breath I didn't know I had been holding. "Good," I said more relief leaking into my voice than I had intended.

"I didn't approve of their involvement with you-"

"How *did * they manage to survive so long without your approval?"

"But for some reason-"

"Couldn't have had anything to do with the fact that I'm awesome and I give great-"

"They were worried about how you would be holding up-"

"I can tell you're sick with concern over my feelings."

"And they wanted to be sure you were taken care of."

The caustic reply died in my throat. My boys were worried about me. I looked down at the table top to hide the tears that were suddenly blurring my eyes. I breathed slowly, before licking my lips and meeting his gaze once again. My face now as neutral as I could manage.

"So they asked me to give you this," he said, as he pulled a folded 8x10 manila envelope out of a deep pocket of his suit. I scrunched my face as I reached to take it. I t was heavier than I had expected. And bulky. I took it in both hands and held it for a second, then stuffed it into my purse.

The waiter arrived with our food just then and Smecker asked him for a check and to put his into a take-out plate. I stared down at my plate. It smelled and looked fantastic, but I couldn't find my appetite. Smecker handed the kid a credit card as he walked away.

I looked up then pulled my wallet out of my purse. "I got it," he said, raising a hand.

"I can tip," I said, lamely.

"Don't worry," he said, his voice surprisingly soft. "I've got it."

I sighed. I didn't want to like this man. "Ok," I said, nodding.

The kid came back with a credit card slip and a Styrofoam container. Smecker signed with a flourish and stood up. The kid walked away with a big grin on his face. He's probably a better tipper than I would have been, I thought.

"One more thing," he said reaching into a small rectangular box, pulling out a cigarette and a business card. He offered me a smoke and handed me his lighter as he scribbled on the back of the card. When he had finished I handed him back the case and the lighter and I accepted the card, dragging deeply. "No one has connected you in any way, but that's not to say that no one will."

"You did," I said, exhaling smoke through my nose. "You found me."

He arched an eyebrow. "They gave me your phone number. It's amazing how much a federal official can dig up with that kind of information."

I laughed a little.

"Regardless," he continued. "No one knows about you. Dolly, Duffy, Greenly and myself have sworn to secrecy about the whole thing, you included, but it won't be a huge leap to put Rocco's body together with the twins and if someone manages that, you'll be a short jump."

I swallowed and nodded.

"But I promised them that I'd do what I could from the inside to throw focus off of you. But, I'll only be in town a couple more days and I *don't* want you contacting Dolly, Duffy, or Greenly, so if you start to feel some heat after I've gone, you call," he said, tapping the card in my hand. "Office on the front, home on the back," he said, stepping back from the table.

I nodded and said, "Thank you." He paused. "Really," I continued, looking up at him. "Thank you. For this," I waved a hand encompassing the envelope in my purse and the card in my hand, "and for taking care of them. Genuinely. Thank you." I thought I might choke and Smecker looked more than a little uncomfortable.

"It was what needed to be done," he said, quietly, more to himself than to me.

"And, I'm sorry for being such a bitch."

He smiled at me. "Me too."

I laughed and came to my feet, extending my hand. He eyed it for a second before he took it. "I hope I never see you again," I said, smiling.

He barked out a laugh and released my hand, "I hope not either," he said, snagging his food and sweeping out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Considering how the rest of my day had already gone, I should have known better than to turn on the TV when I got home.

I was unloading my various takeout from the day (as much as I wanted to I just couldn't bring myself to eat in the restaurant, so I had my set up to-go also) when a newbreak came on behind me. I was working to ignore it when the latest talking head stated in his most dire tone that there were now able to show us, the viewing public, what these nefarious Saints looked like as eyewitnesses to the attack had been working with police sketch artists all day.

Up, on the screen, popped three of the most detailed and accurate artist's renderings of criminals I had ever seen. They weren't 100% accurate, but damn sure close enough. Close enough to make me glad I hadn't eaten much all day as my stomach tried to crawl up out of my mouth. I darted for the bathroom, only to find the two extra toothbrushes the boys had left and their communal comb on my counter, still thick with black and blond hair. I closed my eyes and turned away, breathing deep through my nose and I could almost smell them.

Oh, fuck, I was losing it.

I had to get out.

I had to get drunk.

I had to get to Doc's.

I stomped back into the living room, grabbed my purse, felt the weight and remembered the envelope and the sandwich inside. Couldn't deal with either one right now, so I flung the whole damn thing into my fridge. Grabbed my cigarettes and my keys and left.

Doc's was a lot busier than usual for a Wednesday night and by the way most of the regular guys eyed me when I came in, I could tell I wasn't the only one who had seen the sketches.

I headed for the bar and a couple of guys cleared out, leaving me a space. I nodded at them and Doc plunked a bottle down in front of me. "You're not p-p-payin', tonight," he said as he stepped away. "Fuck! Ass!"

I nodded in thanks, especially since my wallet was now sitting in my fridge at home. I killed the beer in two pulls and lit a cigarette. On my empty stomach my head was already fuzzy when Doc put my second one down. I nodded to him again and killed the second bottle.

Slowly, the regular guys started filtering over to me in groups of two, three, sometimes four, always asking the same things. "Was it really them?" "Had I heard from them?" "Did I know where they were?" I shrugged and shook my head at the appropriate places and eventually they would drift away again. Or they would sit beside me and tell me what a good guy Connor had been, or how you could count on Murphy for anything. I knew they meant well, but the more they talked at me, the more I wanted to punch the next one in the throat.

Wasn't there some other horrible injustice going on in the world that we could discuss? A plague? A famine? Something. Anything. I didn't need some random guys in a pub to tell me how great my boyfriends had been. I knew. I had been sleeping with them.

The alcohol was helping a little, but it wasn't getting the job done. It was dulling the throb of the thoughts in my head, but it wasn't drowning them. I could still smell them. Like they had just gotten up to take a piss. More than once I heard a voice and looked up expecting to see one of them, only to be disappointed. Each time someone brushed against me I'd look up expecting Murphy's goofy smile or Connor's sideways grin. A lighter strike. Them? No.

Oh, holy fuck, I thought running my fingers through my hair. I couldn't do this. Not like this.

I had them inside of me.

In my nose.

Under my skin.

In my soul.

And as much as I hated to think of it, I had to get them out, or I would go insane.

"Buy you a drink?" came the deep voice from beside me.

I looked up, shakily, into a pair of clear, deep, green eyes and sensed…stillness. I blinked. The turmoil in my head had cleared. I could smell aftershave, booze and cigarette smoke on him, but no gunpowder. No blood.

He didn't know me. He didn't know the boys. He wasn't gonna ask me questions I wouldn't be able to answer. I read heat in his body and his eyes. Lust. This man didn't want me for anything other than my body. My insides rebelled at the idea of purging the twins from my mind even for a minute, but if I didn't do it, I'd lose it.

I looked him up and down. I'd definitely seen worse. Was I expecting this to blossom into to have and to hold? No. but for tonight, to get through the worst of it. This man was my out.

My solution.

My salvation.

The real question was…was I a cold enough bitch to take it?

Images of Connor and Murphy. Playful. Serious. Laughing. Smoking. In various stages of undress flitted through my mind at shutter speed and tears filled my eyes.

"I have a better idea," I said, my voice thick, as I lifted a cigarette to my lips, silent tears rolling down my face. "How about you let me take you home?"

*********AUTHOR'S ADDENDUM********* Ok, y'all, I admit I wasn't happy with where my muse was taking this either, but we've all had horribly painful break-ups. The ones where you feel like all the air is gone from the room and all you can eat, sleep, breathe and think is your ex and you wish that just for a couple of minutes you could be distracted enough to not think about them, because you know that if you could get through a couple of minutes without missing them, you could make it through the rest of the day, no problem. My OFC's comfort zones are sex and food. She can't bring herself to eat and she's hoping that the momentary release from the sex is going to give her the strength she needs to just keep breathing in and out.

I know some of you are probably hating her right now, but cut her some slack, the girl is in pain.

*********End of Addendum**********


	6. Chapter 6

Regretfully, I woke up in the morning.

My head seemed about three sizes too small, my stomach was trying to escape from my body, and the first time I opened my eyes I thought the sun was going to parboil my brain through my dilated pupils.

Oh. Fucking. Hell.

I couldn't remember ever feeling this bad. Looking down I saw a thick forearm thrown over my hip and for a second wondered when Murphy's arms had gotten so big. Then I inhaled deeply and realized that the smell was wrong and the whole night came back in a shame-soaked flood.

The guy at the bar.

I had brought him home.

I had used him.

Shamelessly.

…violently, now that the events flooded back in Technicolor.

I groaned, pressing fingers to the space between my eyebrows.

"Morning," he grunted, more than a little shame in his voice, too.

"Shh," I said, sharply. "Please, don't talk." I flipped covers off of my naked body with a hand still bound in a steel handcuff (don't ask), and crawled over the broad man in my bed and stumbled to the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind me.

I couldn't face my reflection so I avoided her gaze, grabbed my robe off of the back of the door and shrugged into it.

I pulled my handcuff keyring out of my vanity (I told you, don't ask) only to find that my key didn't open them. A notion threatened to congeal in my hangover-addled brain, but then didn't. I flipped a few keys until I found the standard and unlocked the bracelet. The rings fell to the floor with a Godawful racket that echoed in the bathroom and threatened to cause my head to explode.

But, unfortunately, it didn't.

If I had been hydrated enough to cry, I would have. Nothing had changed. The boys were still there. Behind my eyes. I could smell Connor on my robe and I could see a bloody square of gauze that I had peeled off of Murphy's forehead not two days before they left.

A one-night stand with some strange was only a temporary respite and now not only did I have to face my impending insanity head-on, but I also had to accept the fact that never before in my wild and crazy sex-riddled life had I felt like a whore, until now.

And now I was standing in my bathroom, hiding from the mountain of a man I had dragged to my bed the night before. So now what the hell did I do with him? I could self-flagellate my ho-ish self later. As it was, my upbringing kicked in and I was suddenly ashamed for being a bad hostess. I rolled my eyes at the idea of my mother scolding me from beyond the grave. 'You practically raped the man. The least you could do is make him coffee.'

"Alright," I whispered to my reflection, who stared accusingly back at me. "One cup of coffee, then he's gone, so I can wallow in my self-loathing in peace."

I nodded firmly at myself and immediately regretted it as I felt my brains slosh against the inside of my skull. "Ok," I whispered, when the room stopped spinning. I tied my robe tighter. "Let's do this," I said my hand on the doorknob.

I turned it and walked into my room and froze. My hangover forgotten, my blood pressure rising as my vision went red at the sight of this man, now fully clothed and up to his elbows in my underwear drawer. "And just what **the fuck** do you imagine you are doing?"


	7. Chapter 7

He had the decency to look embarrassed as he stuttered, "Um…"

But that was all he had a chance for. I flung the cuffs at his face and stumbled past him to reach the Louisville Slugger I kept beside the bedroom door. Turning, I swung with all I had in me and connected with the open drawer, giving him just enough time to avoid losing his hand. I elbowed the light switch behind me, never loosening my grip on the bat.

The light hit his face and I thought he looked familiar.

"Now just calm down," he said, placating, his hands up in front of him, the universal sign of 'we come in peace.'

A light bulb threatened to dawn but blinked out in my haze of hangover and rage.

Just then a pager started to sound from the vicinity of his waist and the pain caused by the trill was enough to cut through the fog like a freaking chainsaw.

The official issue handcuffs that didn't yield to my fun handcuff key. The pager. The green eyes. The black hair. The broad chest that (despite my intimate knowledge of it this morning) had seemed somewhat familiar last night. I had run into it before. Only the last time I had fallen against it stumbling out of the boys' apartment the morning after St. Patrick's Day, but that time he had had a detective's shield sticking out of a pocket.

Oh, holy fuck.

My anger took over then and I did something rather ill-advised. I reared back, telegraphing the swing, and brought my bat around in a circle, intending to brain the bastard.

He saw it coming and rolled his body upwards, taking the hit on one slab of a shoulder, then flung out an arm, grabbing the fat end of the bat in one fist and swinging around, pulling me from my off-balanced feet and slinging me three feet onto my bed. All one fluid motion, I thought as I lay there, trying to get back to my feet. Trained professional. Note to self: Learn to swing and plant your feet before taking on anymore unknown assailants.

"Just stop," he said, his voice calm, his hands extended, my bat still fisted in one. He took two steps back, nudging the bathroom door open, dropping the bat inside and pulling the door closed. "Just-" he sighed, squatting in front of the door, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him as he shook his head, "Let's just talk, calmly."

I barked out a bitter laugh. "Calmly. Yeah, sure, why not?"

He looked up at me as I sat on the edge of the bed, only the balls of my feet on the floor, ready to bolt and I sized up the distance between me and the door and him and me. Given his size, and the fact that he was squatting, not sitting, I didn't like my chances of slipping past him out the door without him getting ahold of me. He saw me judging, his body tense as a guitar string, ready to pounce if he needed to.

I bit my bottom lip in acknowledgment of defeat. He didn't seem violent, wasn't trying to hurt me. Maybe he did just want to talk. Pfft. Sure and maybe I was still a virgin. Either way, it was better to let this play out. I relaxed my body and watched him do the same as I gathered my feet underneath me, probably flashing him in the process, but I was beyond caring. "Ok," I said, settling in, reaching across my bedside table for my spare pack of cigarettes, picking one out with my teeth and looking around for a lighter. He pulled one from a pant pocket and showed it to me, I eyed him and nodded. He tossed it over, underhand. I caught it between my hand and chest, lit up and tossed it back. "Ok, let's talk. You're that cop."

He nodded, "And you're not Brenda O'Reilly."

I snorted, "Obviously."

"And equally obvious what I want to talk about."

I felt my eyes go cold. "And what would that be?"

"Where are they?" he asked, his voice flat.

"Who?" I asked, my face wide-eyed and childlike, innocent.

He paused. "The Saints."

I felt a chill at the base of my spine. "The Saints?" I asked. "Those vigilante guys on the TV?"

He nodded. "Those are the ones."

I dragged deeply and exhaled. "Why would you think I know?"

"Those boys are implicated in at least 15 homicides in the Boston area and suspected in more. Not to mention the very public execution of Yakavetta and by covering for them you could be charged as an accomplice. Now," he said, rising to his full and impressive height, "do you want to tell me about it now, or should I cuff you-"

"Twice in 24 hours," I snarked, "That's hot."

His face flushed, but he continued as if I hadn't spoke, "and drag your ass downtown-"

"Keep my ass out of your mind, it's the last you've seen of it."

"Where we can discuss this officially."

I blinked, then laughed. "Is that what this is? Official? New interrogation technique, then, is it? Fuck your suspect until she comes across?"

His eyes dropped by a fraction and I took advantage. "Bullshit. If this was official you would have showed up at my door with a search warrant and a team of dogs to go through my sock drawer, not in a pub with a pick-up line and a hard-on trying to get into my pants."

His eyes slid away, looking embarrassed. He hadn't meant for the night to go the way it had and he felt bad and for a second I thought to leave it alone, but the idea of my boys in prison galvanized my inner bitch and she took over "I had to have been your last resort. Bet you spent all day yesterday trying to convince anyone who would listen that you knew who the Saints were and nobody wanted to hear it. No mobilization of the troops? Bummer. At least 15 homicides…and closer to 22 if we're being exact, but no one cared. Now ask yourself, detective. Why exactly do you think that is?" I came to my feet and started towards him. I stooped to pick up his cuffs. "Think hard," I said, straightening. "On your way out the door."

He swallowed. "What makes you think I'm leaving alone?"

I felt a wicked grin cross my face, as I looked down at my body. "I'm a little roughed up, but believe me I could make it look more convincing," I looked back up at him and his eyebrows went up. "I don't seem to remember you pulling out a condom last night, and I haven't showered so I'm filthy with what you detective types call physical evidence. And if I asked them to, twenty guys from that bar last night, plus the owner, would swear that I was trying to brush you off all night, but drunk as you were, you weren't hearing me. I left to go home and you followed pretty quick behind me." I paused and let my eyes go a little dead and put ice in my voice. "Not to mention that if my boyfriends are who you seem to think they are, I would not want to be in your shoes if they even suspect that you've hurt me."

"It'd never make it to court."

One side of my mouth quirked up in a half-ass grin. "Maybe not," I said, bitter laughter in my voice. "But seeing to evil men that the law doesn't is kind of the whole realm of the Saints, isn't it? So," I said, taking a step back from him, "why don't you think about it?" I thumped his cuffs into his chest, "And fuck off, Phil."

I released his cuffs and they slid down his chest, and he caught them before they passed his waist. He slipped them into a pocket and walked out of my bedroom. I followed.

He snagged one shoe beside my couch and another from next to my lamp (don't ask how that one happened) and continued to the door. He paused, his hand on the knob, and half-turned to me. "I didn't mean for last night to happen. It just…I'm…" he turned to me full. "I am sorry," his eyes meeting mine as he spoke.

"Just go," I said, the heat gone from my voice and the rage quickly draining from me. He had just been doing what he thought was right and then I had attacked him and drug him kicking and screaming (ok, he wasn't kicking and screaming) into my own fucked-up grieving process. He didn't seem like a bad guy, just misguided. Just doing his job, keeping the public safe from people he thought were dangerous.

My boys would have admired him.

I sighed. "Just fucking go."

He did and I dropped to the floor, curled into a ball and shut down.


	8. Chapter 8

Sometime later that night, I couldn't tell you when because I had lost all track of time in my cycles of crying. I gotta say I was not proud, in any way, of where I was at. My boys would have been disgusted by how weak I was being, but I couldn't help it. If they were here to make fun of me for being a pussy, I wouldn't be lying around being a pussy.

I refused to call Smecker and tell him what had happened, because frankly I couldn't deal with him right now, either. I would tell him eventually, if for no other reason, just to be kept in the loop with what they had or could potentially charge me with. But not tonight. Tonight I was doing good to keep my shit together long enough to shuffle sullenly to my kitchen, dig into my purse and retrieve my sandwich from the previous day. I sniffed at it, shrugged, unwrapped it, flicked on my toaster oven and placed the sandwich inside just to reheat it a bit. I leaned my hip against the fridge and thought about other sandwich making in my kitchen.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

What little bit of my rational mind was left was wondering how in the hell this had happened.

It had been innocent.

I had been cooking…or what passed for cooking in my kitchen meaning I was making sandwiches with toasted bread and melted cheese. It counts! Murphy and Connor had stayed over and we were just waking up at noon. Connor in his standard around-the-house apparel, jeans and socks. Murphy, his jeans unbuttoned, his hair sticking up and his shirt rumpled. I had been doing good to make it out of bed in the first place so I stood in my socks, panties, and a cami, my hair up and out of my face as I stood there making sandwiches.

Murphy stood up to grab a second cup of coffee as I marveled at how he managed to keep his unbuttoned pants on those slender-ass hips of his. I watched him over my shoulder until he passed me then went back to my sandwiches.

"Are ye truly watching his ass when I'm sittin here with no shirt?" Connor demanded from the table.

I arched an eyebrow at Connor, "What?"

"I saw ye," he said, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray and standing.

"I was not," I said, but I could feel color creeping up my face. I looked away from Connor and caught Murphy glancing over his shoulder, checking out his ass and I laughed. "You are always so combative when you're hungover," I directed at Connor who was leaning on the stove beside me.

"He thinks fighting cures the headache," Murphy said, leaning against the counter on my other side.

"Better than that coffee you're pouring down yer throat," Connor half-snarled.

"If I don't argue back, he gets more and more pissed," Murphy confided to me, whispering in my ear. I smiled. "And you, girl?"

"Hangover cure?" I asked, trying to open a mustard jar. "Food," I said, matter-of-factly. "Hence the sandwiches," I continued, gesturing with the jar. Connor plucked it from my hand, and twisted hard, opening it. "Thank you."

He had gotten mustard on his finger and went to lick it off as I took the jar and lid from him, then changed direction and wiped it across my neck. "Ah!" I exclaimed pulling back from him as I put the jar on the counter, then slapped at him. Murphy's hand, cold with what I suspected was also mustard, ran across my upper back and I recoiled. "Ew," I said, reaching back, my fingers coming away yellow. I took them and ran them across his cheek, leaving a stripe of mustard. Just then I was pelted from behind by several small objects that I saw were olives after they hit the floor. "Hey!" I exclaimed, picking up a piece of bread and slinging it at Connor's head.

He deflected it easily with the olive jar and continued his assault on me and Murphy both. Murphy managed to find the counter for his coffee, as he pulled an open bag of Cheetos off the fridge and started launching them at Connor and me.

"Dammit," I said, opening the nearest cabinet and finding a jar of spray cheese and unleashed it on the twins. As I retreated to the fridge under a barrage of Cheez-its (Murphy had run out of ammo and been forced to switch up) and olives (I would have sworn there wasn't that many left in that damn jar) I pulled out a spray can of Reddi-whip and unloaded. I heard them both squeal (I said later, 'like little girls' and received an ass-smack for my input) and then they came at me.

One of them got ahold of the can while the other tickled me, which I protested as 'not fair', but was apparently overruled. When the can was empty we were all covered in mustard, vinegar, Cheez-Whiz and whipped cream. At some point while I was laughing and smearing various substances over their skin, the mood shifted.

I felt it, as they moved in on either side of me. Their bodies tense and almost vibrating with desire. The movement of all our hands became slower, more sensual, no longer playful, but appreciative of the curves of each other. And slowly our tongues became involved. Lapping whipped cream off of each other's skin, tasting the sweet mixed with the salty tang of sweat. I slowly, as it always happened when we were all together, lost track of who's hands were whose. Murphy was in front of me, Connor behind and there were four hands, four lips and two tongues touching me…everywhere. I was instantly soaked and I couldn't get enough of the taste of them into my mouth.

Leaning back against Connor, his mouth slid up from where it had been lapping at my shoulder to meet my lips, as his hands moved down my sides then around to cup my ass through my panties, his fingers matching the speed of his tongue. I sighed into his mouth.

Murphy, in front of me, slid a wicked finger up the inside of my thigh and I leaned my knee out in response, opening myself up, giving him access. He stroked his finger up and down my slit and I shivered as his mouth made soft contact with the left side of my throat.

Connor took his mouth from mine and attacked the right side of my throat and my body bowed, my shoulders pressed against Connor and my stomach and hips hard against Murphy. Connor's mouth became more aggressive against my skin and I pressed harder against Murphy as I reached a hand up to run my fingers through Connor's hair.

Turning my head, I got Connor's earlobe between my lips and suckled, biting gently and he gasped against my skin, his nose working the strap of my cami off of my shoulder. Murphy took over as Connor moved his lips back to my neck. Murphy kissed a trail down my chest, up the slope of my exposed breast, taking my nipple between his lips and sucking.

I gasped a little against Connor's ear, arching my hips harder against Murphy, until he held my the hardened pebble between his teeth and started flicking his tongue over it.

My body bowed all on it's own, thrusting my breasts out to Murphy and my ass harder into Connor's hands as I let out a breathy moan into Connor's ear. He growled in response, sliding his hands around my hips and pulling me harder back against him. I gasped as he ground my ass against his already hard cock.

Murphy, always rolling with the punches, my Murphy, drug his finger, wet with my scent across my nipple and up to my mouth, sliding it between my lips. I sucked it as he watched, a grin starting on his face, as Connor started to press against my shoulder, leaning me forward as he licked up and down my spine. My arms found Murphy's shoulders all on their own and I clung to his neck, my legs no longer supporting me all that well.

"Let's go back into the room, lass," Connor whispered against my ear.

I swallowed, nodding, "Aye."

Connor's hands lifted my hips, settling my ass firmly against his stomach and I locked my ankles behind his back as Murphy slowly kissed my mouth. He started walking backwards and I could hear the crunch of crackers and chips under his feet as he left the kitchen, carrying me between himself and Connor who was slowly running his fingers up and down my spine.

Murphy's kissing increased in speed and intensity as we neared the bed and I heard his pants hit the ground before he sat down on the edge of my bed, in only his shirt, his feet on the floor, his knees wide apart and just his butt on the mattress.

Connor slid my body down his front, making sure to grind into me pretty hard as my crotch passed his aching hard-on. I shivered and groaned into Murphy's mouth as my feet touched the floor. Bent forward at the waist, Connor spooned against me, his mouth on my back, one hand on my hip and the other on my ass. My arms clenched around Murphy's neck as his hands cupped my face, curling a stray strand of my hair around one of his fingers.

Connor's fingers hooked my panties and peeled them down my legs and I stepped out of them, as I pulled Murphy's shirt over his head. I heard Connor undressing behind me, as Murphy removed my top, in the process, pulling me down until my elbows rested on his knees.

I could smell my lube the instant Connor opened the bottle.

Connor had crowbarred the subject of anal sex into a conversation one day and I had responded the way I always do when the subject is broached, 'I'm down for it, if it's done my way, cause otherwise, it fucking hurts.' Copious amounts of one particular brand of lube was one of my rules.

I cocked my head at Murphy, whose hard dick was inches from my face. He had a hopeful expression that I could have giggled at, had it not been for the lust in his eyes. Licking my lips I inched my mouth downwards. I lapped a long stroke up the underside of his cock and felt him shudder slightly under my hands. I circled the head with my tongue as I felt Connor apply the first of the liquid to the tight ring of muscles protecting my 'out' hole. I suckled the velvety head of Murphy's cock with just my lips, tasting the first of his precum, as Connor, slowly slid a finger into my pussy, keeping my arousal going as he prepared the way.

Murphy's hand was on the back of my head and his eyes had dilated with need. I circled with my tongue once more before I slipped him between my lips and into my mouth. Murphy let out a groan that made me growl in response as my head began bobbing up and down on his member. He leaned back slightly to keep a good view at what I was doing and our eyes locked, his hand clenching in my hair, keeping up the pressure on my head, controlling my speed.

Connor slid a well-lubed finger into my ass, and my back arched and my eyes closed as my whole body paused for a second, adjusting to the new sensation. After a few deep breaths through my nose, I slowly resumed my pace on Murphy, and Connor circled his finger a few times, stretching me. I bobbed on Murphy and very gently began rocking back against Connor's finger, after a few seconds, he slid a second finger in to join the first and I gasped, coming off of Murphy completely. Murphy sat back upright, meeting my lips with his own as he stroked my hair softly. Connor slowly began moving his fingers, scissoring them every so slightly, stretching me even more. I heard the application of the lube to his manhood, and I glanced over my shoulder at him. He removed his fingers and I moved forward to straddle Murphy's wide-spread knees.

Murphy wrapped his arms around the small of my back, keeping me balanced as I settled my knees beside his hips, barely on the bed, I would be depending entirely on the twins to keep me upright. I slid a hand between mine and Murphy's stomach, taking hold of him and guiding him to my entrance. I lowered myself onto him an inch at a time, adoring not only the feel of him inside of me, but the change in the expression on his face as I wrapped him in warm heat. I settled, the sensation of Murphy filling me with my legs wide-spread, familiar, and so pleasant. I rolled my hips, slowly, moving him inside of me, eliciting groans from each of us.

His hands slid up my back, to my shoulder, his fingers digging in as I repeated the motion. I laid my face alongside his head, his hair in my face, his face against my neck as I rode him slowly, feeling him gasp against my skin. "Ok, Connor," I whispered into Murphy's hair, as I heard Connor hit his knees behind me. I felt the heat from his body press against my back and felt the insistent pressure of his cock against the cleft of my ass. As slick as we could both be and as stretched as I was likely to get, Connor lined up and slid slowly into me.

I lost my breath for a second as my body went into panic mode that all of my holes were being filled and I needed to do something. I tensed every muscle I had and for a few moments everything hurt, but Connor's soft mouth against my back and his soothing hands against my hips, gradually brought me down and I relaxed between the two of them, and slowly began moving again.

I slowly increased my rate, rolling my hips forward off of Connor and pulling Murphy deeper inside of me, them continuing the circle, sliding off of Murphy and back onto Connor.

Connor radiated heat against my back while Murphy felt like a burst of cool air against my belly and breasts. Murphy's fingers clawing at my shoulders and Connor's hands on my hips, feeling my motions. Murphy's head resting on my chest, his ear flat against my heart, his breath gliding over the sweat on my skin, and Connor's mouth soft against my neck. I couldn't smell, breathe, or think anything but the two of them. So much so that I didn't feel my orgasm rising until it ripped through me, as I gasped, my nails clenched in Murphy's back, my head back against Connor's shoulder. My eyes rolling back as I quivered between the two of them, their bodies pinned against mine all that held me up as I went as limp as a sock.

Connor's breathing was harsh against me and I slowly became aware that he had pulled at least partially out of me, my own internal spasms and tight sheath almost too much to keep him functional.

Slowly, my body mellowed, and I regained control of my limbs. A very soft, incredibly smutty sound rolled out of my throat and I said to both of them, my eyes unfocused on the ceiling, "Aw, boys, make me do that again, please."


	9. Chapter 9

I felt them both smile against my skin as Connor slid completely out of me then grabbed me under the arms and lifted me off of Murphy, the sensation drawing a pleased noise from each of us, before Murphy grabbed my knees and pulled me towards him as he scooted back across the bed. Connor stepped forward to follow, supporting most of my weight as he grabbed my lube bottle again. Murphy slung my knees over his shoulders then took two handfuls of my ass and pulled me steadily closer and closer, his breath hot against my damp slit now a bare inch from his mouth.

Murphy nudged my clit with his nose and I whimpered, as Connor snaked one arm around my chest, under my breasts, holding me up with his left arm as he spit the lid to my lube out of his mouth. He handed me the bottle and held his hand out, waiting for me to dispense it. I turned the bottle over and prepared to squeeze, when Murphy growled deeply into me and my whole body tensed…including my hand which emptied the bottle into Connor's hand.

I heard him laugh behind me as I dropped the bottle to the ground. Murphy had buried himself in me, his lips and tongue caressing my nethers and every sucking, growling or snarling sound he made echoed through my body and I was already leading up to another orgasm when Connor's (very) slick fingers went to work on my ass again.

Murphy changed his speed and snarled again and my body clenched, my legs pressing his face even harder into me.

"Murph?" Connor requested.

"Aye," Murphy replied, his voice muffled but it rang through my body, a deep vibration, as his ring and pinky fingers, still clutching my ass cheeks, moved inward and clenched, opening enough space for Connor to continue his prep.

My initial discomfort and awkwardness overcome, Connor was able to work his fingers in and out of me easily, still supporting my weight, holding me tight to his chest as he licked and nibbled at my ear. I was almost howling by now, both of their mouths so intoxicatingly pleasant I couldn't control myself as I writhed against Connor's chest, both of our bodies slick with sweat (and from the smell of it, my lube, which now seemed to be everywhere) my nails digging into his forearm as it flexed, holding me in place.

He moved closer to me and I could feel the blood pulsing through his member as it pressed against my back. "Murph," he grunted, his voice as tense as his body, his fingers becoming more insistent. To be fair to Murphy, my thighs were clamped pretty hard around his hear and I was screaming like a banshee, so it is possible that he didn't hear Connor, but it's just as likely he was ignoring him, as he continued his mouth's assault on my pussy. "Murph," Connor said, a little more insistent, but Murphy didn't let up and my body was rapidly swelling to a climax. "Murph," he said again, jostling me a for a second as if trying to figure out how to smack Murphy to get his attention. "Lass, give us a hand?"

"Just give him another ten minutes, Connor," I mewled.

"Lass," he whispered against my ear. "I need in ye. Badly." His voice was almost pained as he panted against my skin.

I whined, but I couldn't think of him rock hard against me and not inside of me…no matter how well his brother was doing. It took all of the will power I had remaining but my brain managed to convince my hand to slide into Murphy's hair and yank, pulling his mouth away from me even as I whined in protest and my body screamed for release. Murphy's mouth came away smeared with my slick and the lack of stimulus was almost enough to make me cry.

I swallowed a few times before my voice returned. "Let's get in bed." He grinned up at me, that wicked little boy grin that promised all kinds of adult things.

"Smile later, ye fuck, move back," Connor grunted.

Murph patted my ass, then slid me down his body until I was sitting on his thighs, my legs still wrapped around him, my breast crushed to his chest and I attacked his mouth. My fingers curled in his hair as I drowned myself in his taste. Cigarettes and sweet coffee. His mouth and my slick. I didn't even feel him sliding back across the sheets, putting his back to the wall. I was grinding against him already shifting my hips to slide him inside of me when he leaned forward, slowly lowering me onto my back as he loomed over me, his weight settling over my hips and belly like a hard-edged blanket, as he slowed our kissing speed.

That was one thing I missed with the three of us, the comforting weight of one of them on top of me, his hands on my face holding me in place as his mouth devoured mine. The feeling of being oh-so-pleasantly trapped as his free hand roamed over my body. I moaned into his mouth as I slid my knees up his side, hooking one foot over his hip.

Murphy ground into me once more before he rolled onto his side taking me with him as Connor slid into the bed behind me, his mouth soft on my shoulder as he pulled my mouth away from Murphy, meeting my lips and tongue with his own. Murphy's mouth went to my nipple, biting and licking. His fingers running down to my clit as he pulled my other knee against his chest.

As seemed to always happen when they were both pleasing me at the same time, I didn't have enough sense left in me to do anything but whimper and roll my body towards one or the other. Connor continued kissing me passionately as his fingers slid in and out of me from behind, and Murphy shifted his weight in front of me as he fingered my clit, lining himself up to enter me from the front. I felt Murphy's cock bump my inflamed clit and I yelped into Connor's mouth, who doubled the speed of his fingers. Murphy slid deliberately south, then entered me an inch at a time, deliciously slow.

I moaned into Connor as Murphy fell into a delectable rhythm, slow but firm, all the power of his wiry frame behind each thrust. The fourth time he buried himself in me he twitched and I pulled my mouth away from Connor's to cry out properly. My head rocked back onto his shoulder as a steady stream of gasps and moans rolled from my throat.

"Murph?" Connor asked. Murphy's only response was pulling my knee further up his side, opening me up even further, as Connor moved in closer. "Lass?" he asked, kissing my neck. I nodded, unable to form whole words. Connor removed his fingers, lined up and slid slowly into me.

I couldn't breathe for a second as a few silent tears rolled out of my closed eyelids. Murphy's movement never changed and slowly my focus was able to move back to him. My eyes opened to meet his as he moved steadily and delightfully in and out of me. Connor's forehead pressed against my back, sweat pouring off of him as he respected my rules (the doll) and held still inside of me until I adjusted. Murphy, always a pleasant distraction, brushed a lock of my hair behind my ear and slowly stroked my face with his finger. Slowly, my breathing returned to normal and everything felt good again.

My voice returned and small satisfied sounds started pouring from my lips as I touched Connor's hip lightly with one hand. I heard him exhale behind me, breathing air against my damp skin as he began to move. My breath caught again as I adjusted to the full feeling that sent signals to my brain saying I must be suffocating.

Discomfort was still there, but was evening up with the pleasure. I was really just waiting for the first 'tail-light moment' to come along and flip the balance.

The tail-light moment was like a mini-orgasm in the middle of our threesome. It occurred to me one day sitting in traffic waiting to turn left at a light. My turn signal and the one of the car in front of me blinked cheerily along at nearly the same pace but not together, except for a few seconds every half minute or so where their blinker and my blinker would sync up. It was kind of the same thing with Connor and Murphy.

And I could feel one coming as their rhythms slowly became one and the same, the feeling of them both moving against my body together, their breath almost perfectly synced, their thrusts aligned and the friction it created on the thin layer of tissue separating their cocks inside of me, I could feel my eyes rolling back and a growl bubbled up my throat and out my mouth as I quivered between the two of them, then they got out of sync.

But the feeling remained. Suddenly I was hyper-aware of everything I was feeling. Connor's chest hair as it prickled against my back, the smell of toothpaste on his breath as he panted against me, the clench of his stomach muscles against me as he thrust into me at a depth and speed that suddenly felt absolutely divine. I could feel the wiry strands of Murphy's happy trail as it ticked against the skin of my belly. Could feel his palms sweating against my thighs where he held on. His eyes, blue and gorgeous, watching me. The scent of gunpowder and blood so strong in the room it was making me dizzy and I had to close my eyes for a second.

I gasped as Murphy's lips brushed mine and a surge of lust, completely out of proportion to the simple contact, rolled through my body and all of my nerve endings were suddenly on fire and screaming for more. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes again, meeting Murphy's. He smiled. "Aye, there she is," he said, looking over my shoulder to Connor, who snarled in response as he sped up, not rough or brutal, but steady and incredible. Murphy responded in kind and sped slightly as I sank the nails of my free hand into his back and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, the exhale a pleased moan as he latched onto my neck, biting and licking.

I could feel their timing aligning again and held my bottom lip between my teeth as I waited, whimpering, and it came again. The synergy of our bodies, like one huge electrical current running through all of our connections. Murphy's thumb found my nipple and Connor worried my earlobe between his teeth as my whole body tensed up. "Oh, sweet Christ," I moaned, "Connor," I gasped, "Murphy, that is so…fucking….good. Don't stop, I'm almost, ah, no," I cried as the rhythm slipped again.

"Hold on, lass, bit longer," Connor whispered against my neck.

"Next time, girl," Murphy grunted, his voice strained as he leaned his forehead against my shoulder. Both of their bodies, pressed against mine, tight as guitar strings, sweating and grunting with effort, sliding in and out of me. Ecstasy.

"Aye, lass," Connor said as I felt them syncing up again.

"Aye," I whined in anticipation.

"Look at me, girl," Murphy requested as I met him eyes. "Aye," he said.

"Yea," I mewled as the moment approached, my body on fire at the edge of the cliff of sexual frenzy, poised for the dive into release.

Their strokes synced.

Murphy's hand slid to my ass, a barrier between my skin and Connor's, and squeezed. Connor's fingers slipped around my hip and found my clit pressed hard against Murphy's lower belly. My fingers clutched hard at Murphy's back as my nails found the muscle of Connor's thigh. Maybe two strokes in the orgasms started washing over me. Wave after wave of uninhibited, unadulterated ecstasy buried me. "Fuck, boys, OHGod, that's it, I'm—," were the only words I got out before my voice devolved into a scream and a string of unintelligible syllables as my brain shut off, only the pleasure center still open for business, as my body jerked, bouncing back and forth between the twins like a pinball in an arcade.

Somewhere in the background I felt Murphy twitch as he followed me over the edge and I felt Connor's body go limp as he spilled his seed inside of me.

None of us able to move, we all lay still, a pile of limbs still connected at the groin, panting. Slowly, Murphy rolled onto his back. Without his support, I flopped onto my stomach and Connor rolled away from me onto his back.

Barely breathing, I was so relaxed I didn't notice the twins' hands on me again, positioning me between them. When I was aware again I was covered with a sheet, Murphy spooned and snoring against my back, as I curled to Connor, his thumb stroking the back of my hand where it lay on his chest, my head on his bicep. I could feel his eyes on me and I looked up to meet them. I grinned goofily up at him and he ran his fingers through what was left of my ponytail. "My headache's gone," he said, laughter in his voice and his eyes.

I smiled wide, my eyelids suddenly unbearably heavy, "Oh yeah," as my eyes slipped closed. "Fucking better than fighting, huh?" I murmured into his chest as I started to drift away.

I felt a finger stroke down my face. "Always, lass."


	10. Chapter 10

I was brought back into the painful present by a loud noise that for a second I thought was the smoke alarm (which goes off a lot when I'm doing anything in the kitchen) but looking down I saw my toaster over wasn't smoking and realized it was the phone.

I clicked off the oven and slumped into the living room. "Yeah?" I said, picking up the phone.

"No way to answer the phone, lass."

My heart soared and the bottom dropped out of my stomach at the same time. I felt my eyes well up. "Boys," I sighed.

"Aye, girl, we're both here."

I could see them in my mind. Jeans and t-shirts under their peacoats the phone receiver held between them as they leaned in on either side and I smiled. "Can you talk? I mean, is your phone safe?" When suddenly the thought occurred to me that mine may not be.

"Aye, lass. Pay phone. But we've got to be quick. Just a stopover."

The image in my mind now had them standing next to a pole pay phone, their breath fogging in the night. "Okay, quick." I said, trying to keep my voice upbeat.

"Have ye opened it yet?"

"Opened what?"

Connor went silent for a second. "Have ye not gotten any other strange phone calls, lass?"

I almost face-palmed myself. "Oh, that," I exclaimed, "no, not yet. Hang on." As I pulled the phone from my ear I heard three distinct clicks.

"Was that you, girl?" Murphy asked, his voice gone tense.

"No." I said, a chill in my stomach.

"Probably nothing," Connor said, doubt in his voice. "Why would they be listening to her?"

"Hang up," I said, my voice urgent. "Hang up, quick. I'll explain to our mutual friend, get in touch with him."

"Lass?" Connor said, concern in his voice.

"I'll be fine. He can explain it all. But hang up."

"Keep us close to ye, girl," Murphy said as Connor pulled the phone away.

"We love ye, lass," Connor said a split second before the line went dead.

The cold ice of guilt in my head was suddenly turned into steam by the fire of those four simple little words. They loved me. They said it. They meant it.

And I had betrayed them, and by now, possibly led the authorities right to them.

The ice of guilt returned, my body going numb as I held the phone to my ear for a time until the line started beep-beep-beeping in my ear. "I love you, too," I whispered to the line before I hung it up.

I trudged into my kitchen, finally removing my purse from the fridge and pulled the envelope from it as I sank onto my couch, folding my legs underneath me.

It was bulky, it's weight shifting as I opened the flap to reveal three separate envelopes inside the first one. It had to have been Smecker's influence, my boys were nowhere near that organized. The first was the bulky one. A white legal-sized envelope when barely held closed by the seal. I slid a finger under the flap, opening it, to reveal two stacks of hundreds held together by a band that read $5000. Ten grand? I almost peed. Where the hell did they get this and why didn't they take it with them? I upended the money onto my lap and a note fell out. Short, written on the back of a third $5000 band. I recognized Connor's writing:

Getting a fed to ship you off to a new life pays well. Kept enough for ourselves, thought you could use some. Shut it and take it. We'll worry less.

I clamped my mouth shut over the argument I was about to have with the note and shook my head. Returning the money to the envelope, trying to think of someplace good in the apartment to stash it for the time being, I put the money aside and took out the smallest envelope. Something very small inside, and I shook it out into my hand and immediately started tearing up.

Three individual silver bands. At the middle of the first one a heart representing love, the second a pair of hands for friendship, and the third a crown for loyalty (an ice pick shoved itself into my gut as I looked at the third one), the ring part of each woven together to form a solid band of Celtic knotwork to wrap around my finger.

They had given me a Claddagh. An old Claddagh from the look of it. A family ring of devotion and I had cheated on them within two days of their departure. My eyes got fuzzy and I couldn't bring myself to put it on, so I slipped it carefully back into its envelope and pulled the last one out.

It was slender and couldn't have held more than a sheet of paper or two. I separated the flap and removed three pictures that I had made them promise to destroy. The first was me and Murphy laid out on his mattress at their flat. I had been asleep, my mouth open, my hair a mess, my face all red and Murph spooned up behind me one arm slung over my hip hand on my belly, the other arm under my head, his mouth against my neck, kissing me softly which was actually what brought me around a few seconds after the picture was snapped. I touched his face in the picture, tears now falling from my eyes as I turned it over and saw in Murphy's scrawling handwriting: Keep us close to ye, Girl.

The next was a photo of me and Connor. Him sitting in a chair at my place and me straddling his lap. My feet around the back of the chair, crossed at the ankles, my arms around his neck. He sat in jeans and no shirt, his hands clasped at the small of my back, his thumbs on my bare skin where the shirt I was wearing had ridden up a little bit. We were both smiling, but my ass looked huge where I hung down between his knees and I had told him he had to get rid of the picture. I smiled now, looking at it and flipped it over where Connor and written: We love ye, Lass.

The third had been a random night down at McGinty's. We were sitting in a booth, drinks in front of us, cigarettes burning in an ashtray on the table. Connor on my left, Murphy on my right, both with an arm around me as I leaned against Connor's chest, my hand on Murphy's face. We were all mugging for the camera, big goofy-ass grins. Happy.

I could have shot myself.

I turned the picture over slowly and saw on the back a passage, written in Murphy's hand (simply by virtue of being smaller, I think):

And Shepherds we shall Be, For Thee, My Lord, For Thee, Power hath descended Forth from Thy Hand, That Our feet may swiftly carry out Thy Command, And we shall flow a River forth to Thee, And teeming with Souls shall it ever be. In Nomine Patris, Et Filii, Et Spiritus Sancti.

The prayer.

I had caught a half-assed argument once between the boys and Rocco. Rocco had wanted to learn the prayer and the boys had told him now. I knew it was also the way Il Duce had recognized them the night Rocco was killed. It was a family prayer. Secret, Special. And they had given it to me.

I would have shot myself again, if I could have.

I carefully replaced everything in the big envelope, clutched it to my chest, picked up the phone on the way to my room, screamed, "Fuck you!" into the receiver, replaced it, and went to bed.


	11. Chapter 11

I called Smecker from McGinty's the next day and explained the situation.

"Well, you certainly didn't waste any time, did you?"

"Go fuck yourself, Smecker," I snarled. "I feel shitty enough without your support. You wanted to know if I was getting any heat-"

"Didn't think it would be coming from between your legs," he snapped.

I didn't even have the heart to snap back at him. He was right. The asshole. "You wanted to know if I drew any heat. I am. So I'm letting you know."

"When they called me last night it was the first I had heard of it."

"I thought you were supposed to be the man on the inside, all-knowing and all that. What the fuck? I feel so safe."

"Blow me."

"You wish."

"O'Malley was working under the radar. He has a cousin with the phone company, he hot-wired the tap. You're lucky, if it had been an official tap you never would have known it was there. But, nothing they heard will be admissible. He can't even tell anyone about it without being brought up on charges himself."

"So why do it?"

"To see what you know, so he can see which way to go now."

I sighed. "So, now what?"

"Up to you. I can have them call you at McGinty's when they arrive."

I sighed and put my head down on the bar. "No."

He paused. "Excuse me?"

"Tell them it's too dangerous. For them! For God's sake don't tell them I could be in trouble."

"Do you think I'm an idiot? It took a lot of effort to get them out safe, I'm not risking them coming back for you."

I sighed, again. "Then tell them," I whispered.

He went silent on me again. "Tell them what exactly?"

"You want a guarantee that they won't come back? Tell them I took a cop home the night after they left. Tell them I betrayed them before they were even gone a full 48 hours," I could feel my insides coming apart as I spoke, my voice cracking. "Tell them I don't deserve what they left me and if they want it back, tell you, and I'll get it to them."

Smecker was quiet for a minute and I thought the line had gone dead. "Given time they'll understand. You tell them now, and they'll never forgive you."

I wiped my eyes and nose. They had both started leaking though I didn't remember feeling it start. "They shouldn't forgive me. I'm cheating pond scum."

"Look-" Smecker began.

"Just let me know if anything changes," I spoke over him, as I dropped the phone on the hook even as he continued speaking, nodded my thanks to Doc and walked home.

Once inside I took the envelope with the pictures in it into my bathroom and collected Murphy's blood gauze, taping it to the back of the photo of the two of us, along with the hairs I could definitely decide were his off of their brush. What hair I knew was Connor's was taped to the back of his picture then it was all placed in a plastic baggie and stuck back in the envelope. I put the ring on a chain and hung it on the wall above my bed. I stuck the money in my bra (wouldn't my face be red if I got robbed crossing town?), pulled on my shoes and stuck the envelope in my purse. I locked the door behind me and set off across town to establish an account and rent a safety deposit box.

I couldn't keep the money or the pictures in my place in case O'Malley got his case together and pulled together a search warrant. The ring couldn't be traced to them, and I really couldn't face the idea of it being so far away from me, so it was going to stay in the house, until I got the call from Smecker that they wanted it all back. Sending it back to them would kill me, but I would do it, but for now…I just liked the idea of that tiny bit of them staying close to me.


	12. Chapter 12

My alarm blared from my bedside table and I thumped it a few times to silence it. I reached up unconsciously to stroke the ring where it hung above my head before I rose to hit the bathroom.

I hit play on my answering machine as I passed it. "You have no new messages." I wanted to tell her to shut up, but honestly, no new messages was not a bad thing. It did mean that the twins didn't want their stuff back. Which means that even after Smecker told them what a hooker I was (and I'm sure he played it up for all it was worth) they didn't hate me enough to ask for everything back.

If they had been women I would have thought they were doing it to make me feel worse (as if that were possible), but that wasn't the twins. I didn't take it positive enough to assume that they forgave me, but just knowing that they didn't hate me was enough.

It had been six weeks since I talked to Smecker on the phone that day in Doc's, and I hadn't heard anything back from his, except a random on word message: "Safe." Then a disconnect. I hadn't erased it. I had to listen to it every once in a while to convince myself that he had spoken to them and they were safe. I could live with that.

I was doing as well as could be expected. In fact, I had gone all of the previous day only thinking of the boys about a dozen times. A marked improvement over the constant barrage of images and sounds and memories that I had lived constantly under for the last month and a half. I sighed and headed for the kitchen.

A quick breakfast on my way to work. I had been experimenting in the kitchen since the boys left, making an effort to keep my mind occupied and my time filled. And, who knew, I actually could eat most of what I cooked…not to say that it was good enough for me to force on other people, but I hadn't died yet, so…plus.

I hit the button to start the coffee as I pulled two strips of bacon out of the pack and set them cooking as I dropped two pieces of bread in the toaster and cracked an egg in a pan. I was still waiting for the white to turn a uniform color when the bacon began to sizzle and the coffee started to perk.

All of a sudden my vision went green. My stomach turning as my brain told my body that I was standing in the middle of a room of not-so-fresh corpses instead of my kitchen in the middle of breakfast. I could feel the bile start to rise in the back of my throat and I tried to breathe through my mouth to keep it at bay, but that wasn't happening.

One hand over my mouth and nose, I bolted for the bathroom and everything came up in a flood. I had just sat back confident everything was out when a dry-heave came on me and I retched until my entire body turned inside out then I dropped the lid, flushed, and blew my nose on a square of toilet paper.

What the hell was that all about? I thought to myself as I sat with my back to my tub staring at my medicine cabinet, my handcuff keyring visible for some reason then past that out the door to the twin's ring where it hung on the chain above my bed.

My bed.

Something about that seemed important.

My bed?

Oh. Hell. My bed.

My mind started whirling counting weeks without bleeding and I arrived at seven at the exact moment my smoke alarm started screaming in the kitchen where smell of coffee and bacon had caused ***me*** to throw up.

I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. "Oh, fuck, no," I said to myself as my gorge rose and I threw up again.


End file.
